


Statue of Limitations

by QuestionableCorrosion



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 21:04:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16048523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuestionableCorrosion/pseuds/QuestionableCorrosion
Summary: Crowley's new conversation piece arouses conversation.





	Statue of Limitations

**Author's Note:**

> Relevant context: <https://www.instagram.com/p/BfNWiUCFBN1/>
> 
> First one to spot a lift from another book I love wins a prize.

"You're wrong, angel. Doughnuts are one of ours."  
  
"My dear," said Aziraphale with the infuriating patience of someone anticipating a drawn-out argument and wishing to converse their energy for a final triumphant rebuttal after all other participants were tired out. "I believe you'll find they're one of ours."  
  
Crowley took another sip of his drink and leaned back on the couch. Their get-together had initially been to discuss Warlock's rapidly approaching eleventh birthday, which had then turned to dinner, which had turned to drinks, which after several further steps had transformed into sharing a nightcap at Crowley's flat, comparing their sides' respective culinary accomplishments. It was a testament to his drunkenness that there was an argument at all. Everyone knew that much like with tunes, the Devil had all the best dishes.  
  
He moved to prove as much. "A dessert with enough fat to make hears explode and sugar to sink battleships, devised in Heaven? Dream on, angel."  
  
"But the taste, Crowley. Surely something so sweet couldn't..."  
  
Perhaps Aziraphale saw the flaw in his argument, as he rapidly switched his interest to the decor of Crowley's flat.  
  
It was much the same as it had been during his previous visit some years prior; pristine and swanky, though with updated audio equipment and some changes in the ranks of thriving, terrified plants. There was, however, a new object d'art. It represented a pair of angels showcasing a wrestling move which from the angle they sat in looked to be the one Michael had called the "Putting the Lean on Evil" hold. *****  
  
Aziraphale got up, drink still in hand, and moved to better admire it. "It's quite charming. A new purchase?"  
  
Crowley shifted in his seat. "Oh, that. A gift from an associate." His tone suggested he wished to leave the topic at that.  
  
Naturally, Aziraphale took a closer interest on the statue. From a better vantage point, the figures were clearly meant to be an angel and a demon. At the same time, the wrestling move they were engaged in appeared somewhat ambiguous.  
  
He frowned as he tilted his head. "They look to be intertwined."  
  
Again, Crowley shifted in his seat. "Well, yes. Look, never mind how," he added when Aziraphale kept tilting his head further to the side.  
  
Aziraphale re-aligned himself at the speed of a snail in traffic and turned towards Crowley. "Crowley, _really._ "  
  
Crowley glowered at his glass, trying to see if he could make it burst into pieces with the mundane force of his glare. It was Aziraphale's tone that really stuck in his craw, roughly the equivalent of a sixth-year teacher's upon finding a slightly risqué joke book in one of her students' desks.  
  
"It represents evil's triumph over good," he answered through gritted teeth.  
  
"I can see that. I only ask if it couldn't be represented in a more hygienic way?"  
  
Crowley waved his hand. "Just forget it, Aziraphale. We've both been around humans long enough to know they can't so much as walk past a blank wall without drawing something obscene on it without any input from us. Some are just more artistic about it."  
  
Aziraphale reassumed his seat with the utmost dignity. "Indeed."  
  
"Besides, it's not as if I specifically commissioned the statue and rejected fifteen preliminary sketches because the shape of the wings wasn't quite right and the look on the good angel's face was too mournful."  
  
The silence that fell between them wasn't deafening, exactly, but it was somewhat loud.  
  
At length, Aziraphale straightened his back and regarded his glass with a particularly un-angelic glint in his eye. "Is there something you'd like to tell me, Crowley?"  
  
Crowley groaned and reached for the bottle. "Just finish your blessed drink, Aziraphale."

 

* * *

 

 ***** Saint Michael has many skills. Snappy naming isn't one of them.


End file.
